


Nightcall

by amongthieves



Category: Narcos (TV)
Genre: M/M, Relationship Study, not even sure what to call this one, oneshot ramblings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-15
Updated: 2017-11-15
Packaged: 2019-02-02 20:09:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12733464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amongthieves/pseuds/amongthieves
Summary: Steve Murphy is like a street dog that won't leave him alone. It's almost endearing, and he slightly welcomes that sort of company.





	Nightcall

**Author's Note:**

  * For [therm0dynamics](https://archiveofourown.org/users/therm0dynamics/gifts).



> This is all therm0dynamics's fault, because they write the most wonderful prose and it was just sort of inspiring. So thank you! Binged the show in about a week, instantly had crazy stupid feelings for these two. Bi Peña and bi Murphy is my jam.

“Javi.”

It’s like a dog scratching against the door.

“Javi, hey.”

Javier Peña rolls off his pathetic excuse of a bed, the sheets smelling like the last girl he had last week, and rubs at his face. He looks at the clock in his living room as he crosses the apartment, mutters something along the lines of, _what the fuck Murphy it’s two goddamn am_ , and unlocks the door. The sound of the lock turning seems to appease Steve or something because he finally shuts up, but he’s all teeth and smiles when Javier opens the door. But there’s something off about it — it’s a strained smile.

“What the fuck are you doing here, Murphy?” Javier tries to sound curt, but Steve knows he’s kind of not, and he waltz in like he’s the President of fucking Columbia. 

“Relax, relax, Javi. I have some _great_ news.” Javier notices the bottle of chip tequila in his hands and an open beer bottle. The man stinks of cheap liquor and cigarettes, and Javier shuts the door behind him. 

“Two in the morning kind of good news?”

“Two in the morning good news. Great fucking news!” Steve stumbles over to his kitchen and rummages through for two glasses. He begins to pour himself a drink and points at Javier, who shrugs and folds his arms over his chest.

“You sleep in PJ bottoms?” Steve slurs, and Javier looks down at his blue cotton shorts.

“Yeah. What about it?”

“Iunno. Pictured you a sleeping in the nude kind of guy.”

“Well I’m real flattered that you’re picturing that kind of thing, Murphy. But what the fuck are you here about? Good news?” Javier stands on the other side of the kitchen, feeling a little on edge with Murphy’s sudden presence. The guy had been drinking more than usual lately after Connie had left, and the things you see in Columbia might just do that to you if you didn’t have someone to rely on. Hell, he’s seen the things that happen to men who have a wife of gold — they always slip up. Something ‘bout Columbia does that to a man.

“Connie isn’t coming back. She’s stayin’ up in Miami.”

“Well that don’t sound like good news.”

“Of course it’s not fucking good news.” Steve snarls, slamming back a half glass of presumably tequila. Javier rounds the corner and looks at him, actually takes a goddamn hard look at him.

His shirt’s wet, soaked through with sweat from the hot night, his eyes are red — crying, Javier’s going to assume but not gonna ask about — and his hair is disheveled all to hell. Suddenly, he doesn’t look so Californian and he looks like he’s been scrounged up out of the dumps. 

“Well, what the fuck then, Murphy? You just come here to cry into a glass at my kitchen counter?” 

“I just… fuck. I don’t know. I don’t know, Javi. I thought she was gonna come back. How the fuck am I supposed to continue on without her? She said the kid’s doing well, real well out there. I want to be happy but… fuck.” 

Javier can see the tension in Murphy’s shoulder, see he’s ready to snap, and God Javier wants to take it out of him. If Murphy doesn’t deal with it, he’ll just be a bitch to work with, and Javier’s days are already long enough.

“Well, what do you want me to do about it?” Javier leans against the counter, watching Murphy. Looks at the way the top of his shirt is unbuttoned just two buttons too many, revealing soft blonde chest hair. 

In response, Steve nudges a glass towards him and Javier pushes off the counter and stands beside Steve. Their shoulders touch and he’s surprised when Steve doesn’t bristle, but instead leans into him more. 

“To catching that son of a bitch, Escobar.”

“To fucking catching Escobar.” They raise their glasses and toast, the glass clinking before Javier swallows down the most miserable tequila he’s ever had in his life.

“Where the fuck did you find that stuff?” He coughs, wiping at his mouth. Steve’s grinning at him like a madman, already taking a cigarette out of his pocket. He offers one to Javier.

“Some convenience store that the taxi driver said was open all night. Guess they only sell this stuff to the miserable gringo bastards like me, huh Javi?”

“Yeah.” Javi takes the cigarette from his hand and lets Steve light it for him. “Well put that shit away. If you’re drinking, you’re drinking from my reserve.”

—

They chain-smoke until about five thirty in the morn, the unopened bottle that Javier brought out is now half gone. Sitting on the couch, knees touching, Steve tilts his head back and blows a plume of smoke into the air. Javi looks at it, and then his eyes are trailing down Murphy’s throat and to his chest. A bead of sweat is running down his throat, spilling down over his chest, and Javi inhales deeply. He closes his eyes, chastising himself for even thinking that way. Man’s married, for fuck’s sake.

“Hey, Javi?”

“Mm?”

“Javi.”

“I’m right fuckin’ here. What?”

“Thanks.” It’s a low grumble and it opens Javier’s eyes to look over at him. 

“For what?”

Steve waves his hand at him lazily, dropping his head down. It lulls back and forth as he hums underneath his breath, a Spanish tune they probably heard earlier the radio, and Javier risks it, dares to put his arm around Murphy’s shoulder. And to his surprise, Murphy doesn’t flinch, but leans into it, almost goddamn nuzzles his head into Javier’s side.

They don’t say anything, Javier doesn’t dare, and the clock ticks away as they both drift off.

In the morning, Javier’s the one to pull his arm away from Murphy and head to the kitchen. He’s as quiet as he can be, making coffee, and out the corner of his eye he watches the stupid gringo slowly stir. The windows are pulled shut, and it’s almost as quiet as the morgue in here. He knows what kind of headache Murphy’s going to have, and he almost envies the poor fool.

“Peña…” Steve struggles to stand, eyes squinting as he tries to make sense of his location. Javier sets a cup of coffee in front of him, black just the way he likes it, and heads off to take a shower. “What the fuck.” He laughs to himself as he hears Steve’s confusion, the sound of the mug being lifted from the table.

When he returns, Steve’s gone. Drying his hair with the towel, cotton PJ shorts on, Javier sighs and picks up his empty coffee mug, setting it in the sink.

A quick glance at the clock tells him it’s eight in the morning. “ _Pendejo…_ ” Javier throws the towel at the couch and gets dressed. He wonders if Murphy’s going to remember it at all, or even mention it if he does. 

For his own sanity, Javier decides he’ll keep his mouth shut. He can’t have that idiot visiting him at two in the morning every goddamn weekday, or he’ll loose his mind. 

Though, a vile and twisted part of him welcomes the idea of Steve Murphy making drunk midnight visits a regular thing.


End file.
